Are we really in the Great War? We barely started fighting, and there was a truce - a “Christmas Truce” that became a thing ever since 1914. We were itching to get some German heads rolling, but the British doormats and devious Germans unexpectedly got peaceful and met each other without weapons on the no-man land. My squad was just as perplexed as I was; when we asked the commander on the telephone, the commander disapproved and ordered us to keep fighting. I suppose we will fight, after this day? What are we [going to] do next? Give the people we are trying to kill a nice Christmas present, prepare them cookies, and have a nice big dinner with them? They sank Lusitania, and now they are smiling and exchanging words with our allies — what is there to talk about?

One more thing, I thought we were going to be fighting [Germans], not fighting dirt; most of the time, we have been digging the trench further and further while those Germans hide in coverts behind the safety of the field and shoot at us from three hundred feet away. Occasionally, an artillery shell boomed a thousand feet away.

Also, living in the trench is like hell. Shelter from cold and heat is almost nonexistent while we inhale clouds of dust and smoke. Whenever we were trying to sleep, there was always another gunshot. Attempting to defecate is a whole other story. We were more bored if anything else; how could a war be boring? The only thing more [exciting] than digging dirt was occasionally setting up barbed wires and sometimes aiming at empty helmets in the distant fog.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A few days ago, we were eating beef, salmon, and sardines. Now, we get pozzy* and gippo*; most of the food comes in tin cans, which we occasionally throw above the trenches for fun. For some reason, Raphael is not troubled by the food at all. In fact, when we have any left-over [food], Raphael would volunteer to dine it if the alternative is to dispose of this goo that can barely even be called “food”.

I also confirmed that we will be sent into a hot zone further into France in January next year, so I, and my squad, have to suffer the poor food and boring digging for [a few] more weeks.

EDITOR’S NOTES:

“Pozzy”, according to our sources, are mostly Tickler’s Plum and Apple Jam.

“Gippo” refers to stew or thick gravy.

Although not mentioned, we have reasons to believe that Pæral and his team had also eaten biscuits, “bully beef” (a slang for boiled beef), and others at later dates in the entries.

The pages on the journal with the entry also have a bit of dirt and unidentified brownish-black substances on them.